“I’m fond of a walk in the Trongate mysel’, especially when the lamps are lighted,” said Lauderdale; “I never heard of a philosopher but was. No that I am much of a philosopher, but--. It’s here ye see the real aspect of human affairs. Here, take the shopwindows, or take the passengers, there’s little to be seen but what’s necessary to life; but yonder,” said the reflective student, pointing over Colin’s head to the street they were approaching, “there’s nothing but luxury. We spend a great deal of siller in Glasgow--we’re terrible rich, some of us, and like the best of everything--but there’s no so much difference as you would think. I have no pleasure in that side of wealth for my part; there’s an awful suggestion of eating and drinking in everything about there. Even the grand furniture and the pictures have a kind of haze about them, as if ye could only see them through a dinner. I don’t pretend to have any knowledge for my own part of rich men’s feasts; but it’s no think pleasant to that Genius and Art, no to speak of a great deal of skilful workmanship, should be all subservient to a man’s pleasure in his dinner, and that _that’s_ what they’re here for. Hallo, laddie, I thought you had no friends in Glasgow? there’s somebody yonder waving their hands to you. What do you hang back for? it’s a lady in a carriage. Have you no respect for yoursel’ that you’re so slow to answer?” cried Colin’s monitor, indignantly. Colin would gladly have sunk through the pavement, or darted up a friendly dark alley which presented itself close by, but such an escape was not possible. It was Lady Frankland who was making signals to him out of the carriage-window, and with all his awkwardness, he was obliged to obey them.